Rock Star, Interrupted

by Shade, S. M.

  God, she frustrates the shit out of me. My hand runs through my hair. What am I doing? I’m making an ass out of myself and I don’t even know why. “Wednesday,” I blurt.

  Her brow creases with confusion until I add, “I have Wednesday off. We can take Caden to the zoo or some shit. Wherever.”

  Sighing, she puts her hands on the stroller handles. “Zoo or some shit it is.”

  Patrick gets to his feet, drawing my attention for a moment. “Don’t worry,” she scoffs, “You taught him a lesson today. Never meet your idols.”

  Chapter Eight

  Naomi

  “Are you sure?” I ask Dani, and she jabs her finger toward the door.

  “You never have any fun. There’s a buffet of sexy musicians right outside your door. Go get drunk. Better yet, get drunk, get laid, and sleep in. Caden and I are having a sleepover and I don’t want to see you until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest.”

  A break would be nice, and I can hear the party raging around us. Paige would never forgive me if I didn’t take advantage of the opportunity to party with a mansion full of rock stars. “Niall is out there,” I remark, changing into a tight pair of jeans that make my ass look good.

  “Yes, he is. Go fulfill those adolescent dreams,” she teases. Her gaze sweeps over me. “But not in that shirt.”

  “What’s wrong with my shirt?”

  “Girl, you have a flat stomach and perky little tits. Learn to use them.” She digs through my clothes and finally tosses me a black camisole. “Don’t you dare put a bra under it.”

  I step into the bathroom to change and look at myself in the mirror. My hair is pulled back in a twisted updo at my neck, just messy enough to look like I didn’t try too hard. The camisole fits like a second skin. One hard nipple and it’ll be visible from across the room.

  “Are you trying to make me look slutty?” I accuse, stepping into the room.

  Dani rolls her eyes. “Have you seen the women out there? Next to those groupies, you look Amish. Now get out and tell me the details tomorrow so I can live vicariously through you.”

  Caden is already asleep when I kiss his little forehead, then tuck my phone in my pocket. “Oh, wait!” Dani calls as I start to leave. A condom flies across the room, bouncing off my shoulder. “What am I thinking? You need two at least.” After retrieving the first, I manage to catch the second that’s been thrown at me. “Musicians,” she adds with a shrug.

  “I’m just going to have a few drinks.” The words might be a little more convincing if I didn’t slip the condoms into my front pocket.

  The sudden shift in atmosphere when I leave the room nearly makes my head spin. I’m careful to keep Caden away from all of this, which means I don’t get to experience much of the rock and roll touring lifestyle, but tonight, I’m diving in.

  Our room is at the end of a hallway, as separate from the rest of the house as we can be, to keep the uproar from disturbing Caden. The noise and music grow louder as I make my way down the hall and into the main sitting room where at least two dozen people are gathered, listening to Patrick and Jenna, the lead singer for Frantic. They’re sitting across from each other, guitars on their laps, playing for the small group.

  The real party is outside. Where the hell did all these people even come from? I guess when you get multiple bands and musicians together, they come with a lot of hangers-on. The patio, pool, and back yard are filled with milling people, drinks in hand.

  A table bearing more alcohol than I’ve ever seen in one place—outside of a bar—sits on the edge of the patio alongside two kegs half buried in ice. Rich rock stars they may be, but they party like frat guys.

  “Hi.”

  An amused voice jerks me out of my thoughts. “Oh, hey.” Great, how long was I just zoning out, hovering over the alcohol table while Niall Hemmings watched me. I’m not usually the starstruck type, especially since I’ve had firsthand experience with celebrity musicians now, but this is different.

  From age twelve to seventeen I was in full fangirl lust over this guy like only a teenager can be. I saw them in concert multiple times, each time bemoaning the fact I couldn’t get backstage to meet him in person because obviously Niall would’ve instantly fallen in love with skinny pubescent me.

  Now, here he is, smiling at me with the same smile that decorated my bedroom wall. True, he’s quite a bit older than then—a good twenty years older than me at least—with gray sneaking in around the edges of his hairline and coating his thin beard. A little softer around the middle as well. Still, my heart speeds up. Niall Hemmings.

  Chuckling at my reaction that he’s no doubt seen hundreds of times, he grabs a bottle of beer. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  “Naomi.”

  “Niall.”

  “Obviously,” I laugh, grabbing a cup.

  He watches as I make a whiskey and Coke, then shakes his head. “You know there are margaritas inside?”

  “You mean for the girls?” I tease, taking a big swallow. Margaritas would’ve been a lot better, actually, but right now I just need a buzz to take the edge off of my nerves.

  He leans over and cigarette laden breath wafts into my ear. “Are you making fun of my love of margaritas?”

  “I wouldn’t dare.”

  A raucous cry of laughter erupts from the pool area and water splashes just a few inches away from us. “Want to take a walk?”

  Do I want to take a walk with my childhood obsession? That decision takes very little thought, but I don’t want to seem eager or desperate. Shrugging one shoulder, I glance out toward the tree line. “As long as we get back before dark. The forest at night is way too creepy.”

  Chuckling, he refills my glass then his own, and we head to the steps at the back of the patio. The night is warm and a hundred amazing smells seem to fill the air once we get away from the house. The noise of the party fades into the background as we walk around the edge of the property toward the woods.

  Trying not to make a fool of myself, I struggle to come up with something to talk about. “So, you’re just on the tour for this week?”

  “Two performances.” His grin when he peeks down at me is sexy. “We’re getting too old to run around all the time.”

  “I saw your set last night. You’re definitely not too old. I mean, you don’t move like an old man or anything.” I sound like an idiot. My face hides behind my palm. “That didn’t come out right. What I meant was I thought you guys were great.”

  “I can assure you I don’t move like an old man.”

  We’ve just walked around the first bend of the wooded trail when my back is suddenly against the rough bark of a tree. Niall’s hands are on my hips and he leers down at me. The move catches me off guard. We’ve barely been talking ten minutes. Is he really trying to—yeah, the tongue suddenly thrust into my mouth and the hand squeezing my ass erases any doubt.

  Reflexively, my hands press against his chest, putting some space between us and tearing his mouth from mine. “The fuck,” I exclaim.

  His grin turns wolfish and he steps toward me again. “You like it rough? I can do that.”

  “Get the fuck off of me!” This time shoving him away is intentional.

  “Fucking prick tease. You think there aren’t twenty more of you back at the house? Now, you can suck my dick, or I can have you thrown out on your groupie ass.” His hands unbuckle his belt as he speaks.

  “I’m not a—”

  “Naomi!” I’ve never been so glad to hear my name spat out in that infuriating tone.

  Axton stalks toward us.

  Niall shakes his head. “Wait your turn, man.”

  My hand snaps up and lands across his face with a loud smack. “I’m not a fucking groupie. And even if I were, consent is a thing, you asshole!”

  Axton steps between us, grabs my wrist and pulls me aside. “She works for me. Off limits.”

  They shoot daggers at one another for a long minute before Niall mumbles, “Fuck this.” He stalks ba
ck down the trail.

  Relief washes over me, though I was more angry than afraid. Axton keeps hold of my wrist and pulls me back onto the trail. “What are you doing out here?” I ask while we walk back toward the house.

  “Patrick told me he saw you head into the woods with Niall.”

  “Seriously? Patrick sent you after me? Wait until I get a hold of him.”

  Axton pauses to glare down at me. “Would you rather I hadn’t showed up?”

  “That’s not the point. And I had things under control.”

  “Unbelievable,” Axton scoffs, starting down the trail again.

  “You can let go of my wrist.”

  His gaze travels to my arm like he didn’t realize he still had a grip on me, and he opens his hand. “Patrick told me because Niall’s reputation is no secret. He’s had multiple charges of sexual assault filed against him over the years. He pays them off.”

  His words slam into me, and it takes a few moments to digest them. “Oh.”

  “Yeah, oh.” Anger bleeds through his sarcasm.

  We’ve just come back out into the clearing and the music and laughter from the house are audible. I grab his arm, and he stops, turning to look at me. “Thank you.”

  A quick dart of his tongue between his lips catches my eye and it hasn’t escaped my attention how firm his bicep is beneath my hand. The memory of him singing with the lights surrounding him rushes into my head and I feel my heart speed up.

  His gaze drops to my mouth, then back to my eyes. I’m not the only one affected. “Axton,” I breathe.

  He takes my hand in his and his gruff voice rubs across me. “Come on.”

  Nothing more is spoken on our walk back. He doesn’t let me go until we’ve made it in the back door and down the hall to his suite.

  The rising chaos of the party is blocked out when he shuts the door behind us. Part of me screams that he hasn’t brought me to his room for what I think, even after that look he gave me. And even if he did, it’s a terrible idea. “Axton, what are—"

  “You think I don’t know what you want, Naomi?” He towers over me, his hair hanging in his face, obscuring one eye. His presence overwhelms me, the scent of his skin, the rumble of his voice. Rum infused breath washes over me, sweet and strong, but his eyes are clear, focused.

  He knows what he’s doing.

  His thumb runs over my cheek and time slows to a crawl. My tongue slips out to lick my lips and his gaze stays locked to mine.

  He threads his fingers into my hair, pulling my head back with just enough force to cause a slight sting. Any words I might have conjured are gone as I’m face to face with this terrible, beautiful man.

  I should hate him.

  He’s rude.

  He’s selfish.

  He’s arrogant.

  He’s kissing me.

  Lips that are unbearably soft but insistent take possession of mine and his hands cup my face. There’s nothing sweet about it. His kiss is harsh and aggressive and fucking devastating. My back hits the wall hard enough to rattle a painting to the floor, where the glass frame shatters.

  Neither of us give it a second of attention. Let the whole fucking place go to ruin. Our tongues battle as if we’re trying to punish the other’s mouths. For every snapped reply and hateful remark, for every time he made me feel small, for every hurt he’s imposed with his who gives a fuck attitude, I do want to punish him.

  I squeeze his ass, and he jerks me forward where I can feel his hard cock against me. I shove my hands under his shirt to drag my nails down his back, digging into his skin, and the expression I’m met with is predatory and joyful.

  Breathing hard, he grabs my chin. “I’m going to fuck you. Don’t fall in love with me.”

  “You’re the most arrogant prick I’ve ever met,” I snap, slamming my mouth to his again.

  He pulls off my camisole, nearly ripping it in the process. A part of me can’t believe this is happening. Those hands. Those huge hands with long fingers that somehow bring forth the most beautiful music are kneading my breasts.

  A small yelp escapes me when he pinches my nipples, tugging and rolling them between his fingers until they’re stiff. A wicked smile stretches his lips. “What’s wrong? Did you get yourself into something you can’t handle? You can say no to me and end this right here.”

  Anger wars with lust, making the blood roar in my ears. Arrogant, self-righteous, son of a bitch has no idea what I can handle.

  I’m greeted with a grunt when I grab his cock through his pants. “You think I’m intimidated by this?”

  His chest rises and falls with rapid breaths. “I think you’re intimidated by me. And you should be.” His gaze burns into me, and he hooks his fingers under the waistband of my panties and jeans. “Tell me to stop, or I’m going to fuck you until you regret ever meeting me.”

  My heart pounds, but not as hard as the flesh between my legs. Running one hand over his ass, I reach into my pocket with the other, pull out a condom, and slap it into his hand. “Too late. I already do. Might as well make it worth the trouble.”

  His hands descend, pulling my panties and jeans off. The growl that rumbles his chest should worry me, but I’ve never been more turned on in my life. He grabs my shoulders and spins me around. My palms slap the wall, my cheek plastered against it.

  The sound of plastic being torn seems to echo around the room underlining what I’m about to do. This is really happening. My brain screams at me to think, to consider what this might mean. What it might change. All that gets shoved aside when he presses his body against my back.

  I don’t care.

  I want this.

  His hand lands on my hip, then quickly travels around, sliding down between my legs. Before I can even comprehend that, his fingers dive inside of me, making me draw a sharp breath.

  His deep chuckle is almost as infuriating as his words. “Soaking wet. I knew it.”

  “For a cock, not for you,” I snap. “Are you going to fuck me or keep patting yourself on the back?”

  Never in my life have I imagined talking to a man like this, let alone fucking one I can’t stand the sight of half of the time. I can’t explain it. This inexorable attraction has grown along with my disdain, and at this moment I can’t prevent myself from acting on it.

  “Keep your hands on the wall,” he orders as he grabs my hips and jerks me back. I take a step back to keep from falling on my face and press my palms against the cool surface, bending over.

  The sound of the slap he delivers on my ass reaches my ears a second before I feel the sting, but I have no time to react. A cry leaps from my throat when he drives into me. Fuck. It feels like I might split wide open.

  His fingers dig into my hips as he pulls out and slams back in again, sending a mix of pain and white hot pleasure coursing through me. God, I never knew it could feel like this, so brutal and carnal and fucking mind blowing.

  “Don’t stop, damn it!” I shout when he pauses. I need him to keep moving. I’m too far gone.

  Grabbing me around the waist, he spins us around and bends me over the bed. His cock plunges back in, making me fist the sheets. His breath is in my ear, his chest plastered to my back. Those huge hands envelop mine, pinning them to the bed.

  The scent of him, of sweat and damp hair and pure, enraged man fills my senses. “You and that fucking mouth,” he growls, grinding against my ass.

  Frustrated, I push back against him, and he uses his foot to push my feet farther apart. His hands release mine and return to my hips. The bed is too high, and my toes barely touch the floor. It fills me with a sense of helplessness which isn’t at all unpleasant, especially when he starts to fuck me in earnest.

  There’s no slow lead in or build up. No. He drives into me, over and over, in a punishing pace that fires up every inch of my body. My skin is alive, crawling with heat and electricity.

  Soaked in sweat—his, mine, or a mixture—I’m not sure, I cry out as I’m racked by an orgasm with no warning. H
e doesn’t miss a stroke. Bending over me, he grips my shoulders and thrusts harder, faster, until I’m not sure I can take anymore.

  But I can feel it building again and I want more. A sudden pressure between my ass cheeks makes me stiffen up and the impending climax subsides. “You’re not fucking my ass!” I gasp, trying to squirm away.

  “No. Not yet. When it’s my cock, you’ll know it.”

  The pressure resumes, along with the devastating thrusts. Blood fills my cheeks. No one has touched me there before, but it feels good. Scary, but good. At the same time that he breaches the tight muscle, he reaches down with his other hand and rubs a fingertip over my clit. The world and any rational thought jerks away, instantly disintegrated as every ounce of me is focused on the explosion of sensation rocketing through my body.

  I don’t know what I said.

  I don’t know what sounds I made.

  Nothing becomes clear for a few endless moments until I feel him pull out, leaving an emptiness tinged with relief.

  My body trembles against the bedspread and my emotions are scattered. Gathering myself, I roll over and start to sit up when something splats against my stomach. Looking up, I’m met with a smirk.

  “There. You wanted to fuck a rock star. Mission accomplished.”

  He stalks out of the room and shame like I’ve never felt douses me. He threw the used condom on me and walked away.

  Like I’m trash.

  Like I’m nothing.

  * * *

  Dani glances at me from the corner of her eye. I’ve caught her doing that a few times today.

  “I can feel you looking at me,” I mumble, my eyes on my phone.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Of course.” Mindless scrolling through social media is a good distraction for the moment. A good way to forget.

  “Naomi.” Dani moves over beside me on the sofa. “You haven’t been yourself since that party. What happened?”